Page 81 of Serving the CEO

“Uh-oh.” Wary, she asked, “What happened?”

I wanted to scream. “He’s not honoring our contract.”

To my surprise, Jami hitched up her shoulder. “I was already prepared for that.”

She cut around me and went to the small kitchen, unpacking her bags and turning over a pint container of white chocolate raspberry swirl to me before making a White Russian to go along with it.

Oh, yes…we were going for maximum sugar overload.

I retrieved two spoons and some napkins – one of us inevitably dripped when ice cream was involved – then headed for our couch. Comfort food and alcohol was always how Jami and I got over break-ups or other bad news. I wasn’t so sure it’d work today though. Yes, I was pissed at Derrick, but I was also furious with myself for not having seen this coming. For some reason, I’d thought I’d gotten to know the real Derrick, the man beneath the mask he put up for everyone else.

I’d been an idiot.

The man people saw at work or out and about, the man who went to BDSM clubs and was rarely photographed with the same woman twice wasn’t the mask. The mask was the person I’d thought I’d seen on the Fourth of July, the one who’d made me laugh and burn with passion. That man didn’t exist. He was just part of this whole fucking experiment.

That should have tipped me off right from the start. Who considered a relationship and marriage something to be negotiated like a book advance?

Jami coming over to join me stopped my self-flagellation, but it brought back up the question I’d had a few minutes ago.

“What did you mean when you said you were prepared for this?”

With a faint smile, she said, “He’s not the kind of person to do something nice out of the goodness of his heart. And don’t feel guilty on my behalf, Jess. I never wanted to get my job back at your expense.” She nudged my knee with hers. “Your parents didn’t want you sacrificing your happiness for their store either. It will all be okay.”

I couldn’t tell her that, for a brief while, I’d thought I’d actually be happy with the arrangement. Happy with Derrick.

Instead, I brought up the most innocent victim of Derrick’s vendetta.

“He’s not going to sign Bristol Hayden,” I said quietly. “How do I tell her that?”

Jami scowled. “Idiot. You’d think he’d at least be smart about the business aspect. She’s a goldmine in the making. But…we’ll figure something out. You have contacts. Use them.”

Well, damn. I hadn’t even considered something like that.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s make a plan.”

THIRTY-ONE

DERRICK

My back was killing me.My head was, too, but that was because I’d been getting by on a mostly liquid diet even after the fiasco at the bar Saturday night. But my back was a mess because I’d been sleeping in my office instead of going home and the only way to fix that was to go home at night.

I didn’t want to go home.

The couch in my office was perfectly serviceable for sexual interludes or power naps but it sucked when it came to actual sleep. I needed a decent massage and to go home, sleep in my own bed. Maybe then I’d actually get more than a couple hours in, hopefully without the dreams that’d been plaguing me.

I’d think about it…tomorrow night. Tomorrow night, when I would have been home from the short honeymoon Anamaria had booked. Jessica’s things would’ve been moved in, but I’d fully intended to spend the night claiming her in every room in my penthouse. Not that we hadn’t already had sex in almost every room anyway, but this would’ve been the first time as husband and wife.

And apparently, that meant more to me than I’d thought it would.

Fuck.

No.

I could suffer through another night or two on the miserable couch until I could get her out of my head. I’d considered going to a hotel, but that would’ve reminded me of the hotel we’d had booked for our honeymoon. Plus, it was easier to literally work myself into exhaustion here than it was from a hotel room.

Maybe it’d help to get a new bed. Hell, I could have my whole fucking apartment remodeled so that nothing reminded me of Jessica. It wasn’t like I really had much in the way of personal attachment to anything I had.

“These are the last for now, Mr. Thomas,” Anamaria said, placing two more checks, already filled out, in front of me. For once, there weren’t any smart-ass remarks, which I appreciated. I could do without them, especially since Anamaria was firmly in the camp that this was my own fault in the first place.

---